


Mera Pyaar, Kartik (My love, Kartik)

by Yass_Rani



Series: Karman AUs [2]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: M/M, aman is a writer w a beard, angsttttt, kartik is a manic pixie dream girl plus amitabh stan, meri pyaari bindu au, sexy yes i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25548460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yass_Rani/pseuds/Yass_Rani
Summary: Aman returns to his old home, to find a light flickering in the attic. Maybe it would rekindle the light in him and Kartik, maybe it could douse it completely.A Meri Pyaari Bindu AU, one-shot spinoff of a potential series (¬‿¬)
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: Karman AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889839
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	Mera Pyaar, Kartik (My love, Kartik)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my pareshan gays :')](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+pareshan+gays+%3A%27%29).



Aman watched the rain pour outside, his mind flickering back to all the times he and Kartik had danced in the rain years ago. Devdas, their dog – he knew the dog was just his, but every time he looked into those brown puppy eyes he couldn’t help but think of Kartik’s honey-coloured ones – was lying on the bed, staring at nothing in particular.

It was quiet for a moment. Aman’s parents’ welcome party was dying down and he’d zoned out of the buzz long ago, choosing to listen to the soft rumbling of distant thunder and the patter of rain on his window. Despite his inner self raging like the storm clouds on the horizon, the man felt somewhat peaceful – maybe it was the nostalgia, or the smell of his old room, books and all, or maybe it was just the rain, he’d remember all the nights he spent in Kartik’s attic watching him dance away to some Amitabh Bachchan song, flying around the room with a clumsy grace only he could pull off.

Devdas’ sharp bark caught Aman off guard. He tried to pacify the excited dog, only to feel his heart thud in his chest as a small light in the old attic of the opposite house flickered in the darkness. Aman’s breath stilled for a moment, memories rushing to his mind as hard as the rain pouring outside. Staring in helpless uncertainty at the window, he was transported to the first time he saw that same light flicker, somewhere around twenty-five years ago.

\---

_It was raining, the skies pouring water like Asha Bhosle poured emotions into her music. Aman was battling with the antenna to get the TV to function enough for their movie song marathon, just like he did every Wednesday, and as the signal came back, in the four minutes and ten seconds of ‘Aaiye Meherbaan’, he wasn’t sure if Madhubala had Ashok Kumar swooning over her, Aman definitely found himself a best friend._

_Having decided to skip their families bonding over music, Kartik had climbed up to the attic, flashing the small light in some version of secret morse code, crooking a finger with a smirk to call Aman over to whatever sort of event he’d planned for the night. Aman had no way of knowing what it was – all he knew was that his friend was the epitome of a dandelion, flying anywhere the wind took him and as of late, dragging Aman along._

_Careful not to scrape his knees lest Sunaina gives him hell for it when she’d see, smothering him with enough turmeric and pouts and bandaids to last a lifetime, Aman scrambled up the tree to the branch that would lead him straight to the little secret lair they had. Climbing in through the window, he heard the soft melody of ‘Aaiye Meherbaan’ crooning from a cassette player before his eyes met Kartik’s, who was already twirling around the room, moving as if he was the woman in the song, asking the visiting gentleman to sit and enjoy the show – and Aman gladly obliged._

\---

Trying his best to ignore the flickering bulb at first, Aman chalked it off to some new tenant messing with the electricity. Although, no matter how hard he tried, Devdas seemed to be persistent, he kept yapping away at the lights and pulling at Aman’s trousers, like he was saying exactly what Aman’s heart was, to move. To sprint over and rush to the oh-so-familiar attic, to the much more familiar man he hoped to high heavens would be there.

And he did.

Pushing his anxiety to the far depths of his mind, Aman stepped out of his window, scrambling for purchase against the rough bark of the tree. His heart was pounding out of his chest and his mind was screaming at him to give up, to go away and just let it go, but the pure adrenaline and curiosity set deep in Aman’s soul propelled him forth as he ended up stumbling into the room before he could doubt or stop himself.

A little girl sat on the old crates in the rickety attic, flicking the lights on for the last time as she caught Aman’s eyes and tilted her head, furrowing her brows in curiosity at the bearded man walking into the space like he was so acquainted with the small attic he almost didn’t notice the young girl.

The honey-brown eyes of the young girl in front of him reminded Aman with a jolt of the first time he’d met Kartik – carrying a plate of samosas and almost running into a grinning ten-year-old zooming around in a superhero costume. He smiled softly at her, the expression reaching his eyes sooner than he’d expected, having always had dreams of a family, of having a little girl play around the house as him and his husband would watch, similar smiles on their face, serene and happy. Dreams that he and Kartik had once had together, when they were just teenagers, laughing and giggling as they thought of baby names for a daughter – Aman was _very_ sure it would be a girl – they would at some point have.

Whispered promises and memories creeped out of the familiar attic walls, mingling with the smell of old crates and rain and dust as they formed a single name in Aman’s mind. Bindu.

Despite the turmoil of hope and recollections swirling in him, Aman managed to keep the smile as he waved to the little girl, greeting her in a soft voice, “Hi. What’s your name?”

In the split second between his question and the girl’s answering squeak, Aman’s eyes flickered with all kinds of emotions, settling on something between adoration and anxiety, his writer mind rushing to create some sort of alternate universe that had him and Kartik together, happy and married, with this little girl as their child, perhaps to soothe him into a night’s sleep with the fictional knowledge of requited love – just in case her name was, by some miracle, what he hoped it was.

“Bindu!”

A call sounded from behind Aman, as the girl, _Bindu_ , scrambled down the crates to meet the voice, its owner rushing into the attic to escape the rain.

Aman’s heart was frantically beating until now, but the moment he saw who it was, it completely stilled, his breath catching as a cacophony of emotions as loud as the rain outside burst in him.

Kartik had rushed in, searching for his daughter and even as she smiled at him, he absentmindedly hugged her to his side when he met the chocolate brown gaze of a face he knew so well, eyes widening slightly as his heart stopped for a second before frantically thudding again in recognition.

Aman Tripathi.

Kartik smiled, slowly growing to match Aman’s – both men trying their best to put on a friendly façade even as their hearts thudded and emotions swirled so thick they could’ve cut through it with a sword.

“Made friends already? Bubla seems to like you” Kartik queried, quirking his eyebrow in a way that Aman had never forgotten – almost having cultivated it into a habit himself.

“Give us some time, I tend to grow on people.” The man replied, taking in the absolutely beautiful view of Kartik and Bindu – or Bubla, it seemed Kartik had given her the same name Aman had given him the first time they met – before it hit him at once.

The view of Kartik and _his_ daughter, Bindu.

Not theirs. His.

Even as they shared inside jokes and chuckled at their past antics, Aman’s curiosity grew each moment, twitching at him to ask about Bindu. About her mother, maybe.

“I wanted Bindu to see this place. Before we moved,” Kartik spoke as he stood beside the window, looking as young as he did seven years ago, watching Aman with just a soft smile as he’d always done.

They talked, soft and familiar, made jokes and chuckled as they found each other in the rain just like years ago. Aman found out Kartik had read his books, the latter teasing him about all the stunts he’d pulled for publicity while Aman just denied ever having wanted to do erotic fiction in the first place.

“I’ve been trying to finish a love story for three years now,” Aman spoke after a bout of silence, lest his impulsive half took over control and decided to ask Kartik about his family.

“Definitely finish it this time,” Kartik replied, “I know you’ll have a hundred hits, Sachin.” his eyes holding a knowing fondness even though his heart ached at the mere remembrance of their incomplete love story.

“I did hit a century, but I lost the match.”

The sullen look in Aman’s eyes despite his hopeful smile pained Kartik. It pained him because he knew his own eyes showed the same sorrow and heartbreak of previous promises and reminisced memories.

Before Kartik even realised what was happening, Aman had sprinted off with a promise to be back, and before the former processed it, he was. With a bound book in his hands.

Kartik sat down on the old chair as he opened the book, reading with such a soft smile on his face that Aman couldn’t help but fall in love with him again after the turn of each page, while Kartik fell in love with the words in front of him, not stopping until he reached the end, the story of pure love, of purely _them_ , enveloped him in a familiar warm embrace.

_‘Kartik. In one word, he was trouble.’_

Kartik smiled softly. It reminded him of every time he pulled a prank and Aman would shake his head in mock disappointment albeit it was clear he loved it.

_‘My neighbour, my best friend.’_

It was true. The best friend Kartik had ever had.

_‘You and me, music in the background.’_

All those nights of listening to music, Kartik singing along passionately as Aman would listen, eyes closed and relaxed.

_‘Many teach you how to love, but alas, what no one teaches you is how to forget it.’_

At that part, Kartik took a deep breath, willing tears that threatened to dampen the paper to stay back. He knew how hard it was to forget. He’d tried, he couldn’t. Even now, he couldn’t. He was pretty sure he never would be able to forget Aman.

_‘Kartik. Without him, I could never be complete._

_Better than a half-smoked cigarette, than hot tea in the cold rain, more heartbreaking than the ending of Sholay, than Zakir Hussain’s tabla, than Sachin’s straight drives._

_Hotter than Amitabh or a shirtless Jackie Shroff._

_Rafi’s voice and the words of a sad Gulzar song._

_I loved Kartik more than all these things.’_

Kartik tried to breathe, but all that came out was little gasps as he tried hard as he can to stop himself from crying out loud. He’d thought about Aman every single day, but reading this book had made him desperate to know his best friend once more, to see his love and maybe, maybe just be lucky enough to receive it back just like years ago. He prayed to every power he knew that might show him a sign that Aman still loves him, that they could still be together, maybe have a family, anything.

As he forced his eyes open to read the next line, the tears came rushing back. His prayers were answered. The four simple words on the white paper stood out like marks of a promise, of a story that actually could come true.

_‘I wanted him back.’_

Unable to process anything, Kartik blindly read over the last few lines, barely processing them-

_‘In that moment, there was neither any music playing nor a sound in the background. No sixteen-piece orchestra._

_Only Aman and Kartik._

_Aman and Kartik and their hearts beating as fiercely as their love._

_The end.’_

Only to be interrupted by little Bindu as she rushed back into the attic again, clutching onto her father’s side.

And Aman’s eyes lost their little light of hope. Because of course, there was no way Kartik would choose Aman over Bindu and her mother. He saw the light in his friend’s eyes when he’d look at his daughter like she was all the light in the world. There was no way at all he would be able to be a part of Kartik’s family.

“Uncle, are you Aman Papa? Baba has told me so much about you! You are my Papa right?”

The young girl’s shockingly hopeful voice brought Aman down with a jolt. _My Papa_.

His mind raced back to a time he and Kartik had talked as teenagers.

\---

_“Bindu. It’s a beautiful name, Kartik. She’s going to love her dad.”_

_“Dad nahi. She’ll call me Baba. Baba bro, maybe. And you’re Papa. Papa Aman.”_

\---

He glanced at Kartik’s face and then his hands on Bindu’s shoulders, and realised with a pleasant jolt.

Kartik was not married.

Bindu was adopted.

Bindu called him ‘Papa’

Which meant Kartik had told her Aman was her Papa.

Bindu wasn’t his daughter.

Bindu was _their_ daughter.

And finally, when Bindu and Kartik grinned sheepishly at Aman, he knew. His brain scrambled together and he understood the final words of the book. He understood, he realised and his mind chanted the last few lines and he couldn’t help but think they were written for this exact moment, because-

In that moment, there was neither any music playing nor a sound in the background. No sixteen-piece orchestra.

Only Aman and Kartik.

Aman and Kartik and their hearts beating as fiercely as their love.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Thanks so much for reading! drop a comment or leave kudos I love everything and all of you amazing readers! Also drop a request or ask to be tagged on my Tumblr: yass-rani


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